@mediocreMayme is a postgrad in Physics, a lover of polka-dots, and a cat owner (twice over). Whilst she likes 60s fashions, she would never put her head in a beehive.

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#52, what happens when I try to tell an anecdote

My name is @mediocreMayme, and today I’m going to tell you what happens whenever I try to tell a story.

Step one: the trigger

The trigger is a spark in conversation that causes me to remember a thing that happened that time, that is sorta-kinda related to the actual subject of conversation, but also sorta-kinda isn’t. Usually, I’ll push on with it anyway. Unfortunately, the trigger usually occurs to me mid-way through someone else’s anecdotes. But, obviously, I am far too excited to contribute something funny, so I take it upon myself to interrupt and divert the attention on the (much cooler) thing I have to say.

Step two: the dread

The dread is carried forth in one of two ways:

If the person is a new acquaintance and hasn’t experienced one of my off-the-cuff anecdotes, then there will be expectations. Like, the person will expect the anecdote to have a point, or follow a sensible chronological order. And, I live in dread of those expectations.

If the person is an older friend, then they are the ones filled with dread. Dread that in the next 2-5 minutes they’ll be forced to listen to me trip over my words and not really contribute anything mindful to the conversation at hand.

Step three: the realisation

Some part through the anecdote I will realise I’ve forgotten what I was talking about… Approximately 30 seconds later, the other person will realise this too.

Step four: laughing it off

By this point, both me and the party privy to the anecdote will be a little bit embarrassed, and I will shrug and laugh it off and say something to the affect of “I guess you probably had to be there”. But, by then it’s too late, this person knows that in my spare time I brutally murder the re-telling of tales. The aftermath beyond this is usually much more forgiving and the conversation will either flow to other things, or continue the path it was taking before with my friends, and acquaintances, mercifully forgiving me for sometimes being such a drag.